A Cricket in the Outfield
by LittleMonsoon
Summary: Lynn discovers that lucky charms and rituals don't always lead to victory on the field.
1. Chapter 1

**_AN:_** _Because this is a Loud House story about Lynn in which the concept of luck is explored, I am legally required by federal law to mention that I have never seen No Such Luck and have only read like two of the infamously plentiful NSL fics all the way through, and I'm pretty sure they weren't even some of the most well known ones. So this wasn't written in response to No Such Luck or its reception amongst the fanbase or anything like that. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this story._

* * *

When Lynn stepped up to bat for the first softball game of July, she did so in a suit of armor. Not one of chainmail and steel plates, of course; she wore her red and white Royal Woods Squirrels uniform just as the rest of her teammates did, with a few small variations. No, hers was a far more powerful shield.

It was one made out of luck.

She had spent the prior two weeks gathering them: every charm, token, and symbol that she could think of. If she was a force to be reckoned with before, when all she had were her pre-game rituals and lucky jockstrap, then now she was unstoppable.

Some were much easier to find than others. For example, her cricket. Lana already had to collect them anyway, along with mealworms and other insects, to feed her many pet amphibians, so obtaining one was simply a matter of going to her little sister's room and reaching into the cardboard box that Lana stored the bugs in to pick one out. She felt rather like an old god, vengeful and uncaring, as she made the decision of which lucky creature would be spared having to be gulped down the gaping maw of Hops the frog.

After careful consideration, she plucked a grasshopper that was juicy and fat from that writhing mass of countless legs and translucent wings and held it in her grip, taking care not to squeeze too tightly lest its exoskeleton shatter. It now sat in the dugout in a glass baby-food jar with holes poked into the lid, one that Lynn emptied of its contents and filled with grass and leafs for her new pet as a sort of makeshift terrarium. Originally, her plan was to tie a rope around the jar and sling it around her waist as she went to bat, but she thought better of it. There was no way it would be able to survive all of the sliding from base to base she was sure to do on that day. Instead, it would have to wait in the dugout, where it could emanate good fortune like radio waves.

Her nazar and horseshoe as well were simple finds. The glass pendant of blue and white and black, designed to ward off the evil eye, was simply laying in wait in one of Lucy's drawers, one that was full to the brim with magick paraphernalia like witch hazel and shattered robin eggs and what looked suspiciously like a small doll made in Lynn's likeness. It now hung across her neck, as did a horseshoe stolen from Pop-Pop's nursing home in the outdoor recreation center. It was uncomfortable, that large slab of metal pressing down on her chest, and as she walked to home plate every step sent that black iron medallion thumping painfully into her ribcage. It would be worth it, though, when she hit her first of what was sure to be many home runs.

Still, her most powerful charms came with the heaviest tolls, like her lucky rabbit's foot. After promising to never dutch oven him again, agreeing to do his chores for a month, and utilizing her infamous "puppy dog eyes," Lincoln very reluctantly agreed to let her have Bun-bun's left leg. It was either that or take one off of Luan's magic show rabbit Gary, which even Lynn knew would be much too cruel to go through with. Besides, Bun-bun's foot would be infused with Lincoln's sentimental love, which Lynn figured would make it twice as lucky. With the delicacy of a surgeon Leni snipped the appendage from the rabbit's body, sewed a checkerboard patterned prosthetic she'd made to the stuffed animal as a replacement, attached the old leg to a keychain, and looped it around Lynn's wrist.

It broke her heart, having to tear apart something her brother loved so dear, but she just kept telling herself that she'd make much better use of the leg than Bun-bun ever could. It wasn't like the stuffed animal could get around on its own anyway without Lincoln's help. With a thankful kiss to Bun-bun's felt cheek and a warm hug for her brother, Lynn set off for her ultimate prize; a four-leaf clover. It took her hours of searching high and low through her backyard and the vast fields of Ketchum Park before she finally found it, and her arms and legs still bore scratches from crawling through thorny brambles in search of it, but she knew she would be rewarded in the end. It now fit inside her pocket, safe and secure in the sleeve of a hard plastic baseball card holder. The shamrock alone was lucky enough, and when used in conjunction with her other tokens and rituals, she was practically a hero of legend. A modern day king (or, in her case, queen) Arthur.

And if her lucky charms constituted her armor, then her bat was her own personal excalibur.

She stood at home plate and did as she always did before she could swing away with any sort of confidence. She spun in a circle five times, twice clockwise and thrice counterclockwise, ignoring that the opposing team probably thought she was mad (her own team was long used to her superstitions, and so watched without a care). Every time her foot made contact with the ground, she felt a subtle pressing into her heel; it was the penny she picked up that morning and placed into the sole of her cleat. _See a penny/pick it up/all day long you'll have good luck,_ as the old rhyme went.

The ceremony complete, Lynn looked out at her competition and stifled a laugh. A motley crew of rag tags, the Huntington Oaks Marlins were the kind of underdog team that, were Lynn living in a cliche sports movie, would surely end up winning the day. But this was no movie. Looking bored and unfocused, most of them stood as if they had wandered onto the diamond by mistake, fanning themselves with their gloves in the hot sun and swatting away in alarm at the crane flies that hovered in the air, not knowing that the insects were harmless. Even without her lucky charms, beating them would've been an easy task.

Poor Francisco never stood a chance.

He stood on the pitcher's mound with his hat pulled low over his eyes, tufts of his ink-black hair peeking from beneath the brim all sweat drenched and glimmering, though the brim couldn't completely hide the light shade of red that bloomed on his cheeks as soon as Lynn stepped up. Whether it was a sunburn or because he was blushing she wasn't sure, though she hoped it was the latter. Lean and muscular, he was easily the most capable looking member of the Marlins, not that it would do him much good. His handsome face was contorted in an expression so determined and serious that it was as if he thought his team had a chance of taking hers' on. It was kind of cute. How she almost hated having to send him crashing back down to earth, but she knew she could make it up to him.

In her mind's eye she saw it; he'd be sitting in the bleachers after the game, and anybody who didn't know him as well as she did would think he was perfectly fine. But she noticed so many things about him, things that she found so adorable; how he'd bite his chapped lower lip with his chipped tooth whenever he was upset, how he'd fiddle with the strap of his catcher's glove when he was nervous, how he'd scratch at his left shin (never his right) with his spiky cleats when he was feeling dejected.

In her fantasy, he was doing all of those things.

Such a good sport, trying to hide how disappointed he was that his team lost. She had learned to be a good sport too, and a gracious winner. Even though her first instinct would be to gloat in his face, she'd quell that urge and instead sling her arm around his shoulder and tell him that there was no shame in being second best to her, that he had put up a good fight, and that even if he had lost the game he was still a winner in her book. Then, still high from victory, she'd pull him in and plant a quick kiss to his cheek (maybe his lips, depending on how daring she felt) to show him that she meant it.

What better way was there to follow up on the love letter she had slipped him at the start of the summer and confirm without a shadow of a doubt that she was its author?

Together, they'd sit in the bleachers to watch the sunset and to look out at the lightning bugs that would hover over and illuminate the baseball diamond once it was dark. A perfect end to a perfect day.

All of these fantasies played out in her mind in an instant before she returned her focus to the task at hand. Gripping her bat firmly, she got into her stance and prepared herself. The crowd had gone mostly silent, most likely out of awestruck respect for such a legendary ball-player. All except for one voice, louder than all the others. It belonged to Leni.

"Hey batter-batter-batter hey batter-batter-batter suh-WING!" All of a sudden her voice cut out as no doubt Lori was explaining to her that she was supposed to taunt the _opposing_ team, not Lynn's, and sure enough, a moment later Leni called out again, "Oops, sorry Lynn! Swing whenever you want!" Lynn smiled. Classic Leni.

Lynn and Francisco stared each other down across the forty-six feet from home plate to pitcher's mound like twin samurai in an ancient battlefield. The drama of it all was undercut slightly when a noisy rumble escaped Lynn's stomach. Her lower gut was a typhoon, and while at least twenty percent of it was simply butterflies in her stomach from staring at her crush for so long, the other eighty percent was from the spicy meatball sub she had eaten two days prior and that had been laying in wait ever since. It was a sound theory, one that Lisa would've been proud of; If it was bad luck to bomb the bowl the day before a big game, then it was only logical that it should be double-plus _good_ luck to refrain from using the bathroom for _two_ days before a big game. Sure, it was horribly uncomfortable now, and her teammates loudly protested, but that would just make it all the sweeter when she finally did rush into her bathroom to do her business after her victory. Crude as it was, she had to admit; there were few better feelings in the world than a post-game deuce.

After what seemed like an eternity, finally Francisco wound up his throw, standing for an instant on one leg like a king heron, and pitched a devastating fastball like a bullet.

Lynn swung a little too high. "STEEE-RIKE ONE!" the umpire yelled.

No matter. She still had two chances left. She took a deep breath of that scorching ballpark air and calmed herself. Another pitch came, this time a curveball, and again her bat hit nothing.

"STEEEEEEEEEE-RIKE TWO!"

One shot remained, but still Lynn's confidence didn't falter. If anything, she reasoned, it was good that she had two strikes. Francisco was probably feeling awfully proud of himself now, as getting even two strikes on Lynn Loud was a rare accomplishment for even the best pitchers. Lynn had no objections to the thought of her crush's self-esteem getting a boost, even if it came slightly at her expense. As long as her bat made contact with the ball during the next throw, then she could still say her lucky charms were working their magic.

He pitched a third time, and the sound of the baseball cracking against wood echoed through the field as loudly as Fourth of July fireworks. A tremor like that of one of Luan's hand-buzzers multiplied one-thousand-fold shot up Lynn's arm as she watched the ball soar into the air towards the scoreboard. She wished that it was night, so that when that ball inevitably smashed into the screen the resulting sparks could be clearly visible to everyone.

To thunderous applause she started to run to first base, not bothering to sprint. She wanted to savor this moment for as long as she could; the taste of victory, the adulation of the spectators, and the knowledge that all of the trouble she had gone through to collect her lucky charms had payed off. She was Lynn Loud Jr: athlete, warrior, champion, and above all else, winn-

"YOU'RE OUT!" the umpire called, and all of a sudden everything came crashing down. Panicked and confused, she searched the field for how this new development was possible, and that's when she saw that her "home run" had run out of steam long before it could shatter the scoreboard. The ball was now held in the glove of some outfielder who Lynn didn't recognize, a girl who looked as surprised as Lynn did that she had managed to catch it.

Lynn did not throw a fit. She simply walked back to the dugout in disbelief, wondering how her tokens could've failed her and desperately coming up with a new game plan. Perhaps she would, after all, tie her cricket around her waist as she had originally planned. Yes, that must've been the reason she hadn't scored a run. Come to think of it, she should probably spin around seven times (seven was a much luckier number than five, after all) before going up to bat again, just to be on the safe side. This out was just a fluke, a freak occurrence, a minor setback that would not be repeated.

Next time it was her turn to bat, she'd show them all how lucky she was.


	2. Chapter 2

The Marlins ended up winning eight to zero.

Following her crushing defeat, it was Lynn, not Francisco, who sat dejectedly in the steel bleachers, which were still warm from being forged in the hot sun all day but no longer blistering as it was dusk.

As she sat, she fed the shamrock to her cricket.

One by one she peeled each leaf from the stem and held them to the insect's mandibles as it sat in its jar in the fading daylight. With the ruthless efficiency of a woodchipper the cricket devoured every speck of green until there was nothing left. All of that effort that went into finding the clover was gone in an instant.

At least the cricket could get some use out of it. Far more than it had given her.

With bitter irony, she whispered to her tiny pet. "You know, if I was feeling mean, I could take you home and feed you to Lana's frog like I just fed that shamrock to you, eh little guy? I mean, that's what she got you for in the first place, right? I rescued you, and this is the thanks I get?" The cricket merely chirped and twitched its antenna, indifferent to the threat. Lynn watched it a moment longer and sighed at the realization that not only was she not feeling mean, but that she wasn't feeling much of anything.

Emotionless, she reached her hand into the jar and let the cricket perch itself on her knuckle, then held it up before her eyes so she could see it silhouetted against the dying light of the ever-darkening sky.

"Safe travels, little buddy," she told it. "Here's hoping that your luck is better than mine out there." With that, she flicked her wrist up and sent the little traveller flying through the air towards the supermassive red sun sinking below the horizon.

The not-so-lucky-after all penny had already been discarded from her cleat like an irritating stone, the horseshoe had been tossed halfheartedly into centerfield, and she had already made plans to return her pendant and Bun-bun's foot to their rightful owners as soon as she got home. She wondered if the stuffed rabbit would register in his cotton brain what had happened; if he would think that a miracle had transpired when he got his leg back. Once again, she felt a little like a god, one far kinder than the one that had spared a single grasshopper only to leave the rest to die.

The clatter of footsteps on metal rattled in her ears, and when Lynn turned her head she saw her friend Margo approaching. The Squirrels' shortstop, Margo was Lynn's closest equal in terms of athletic ability, though much like Lynn she hadn't played her best that day. "'Sup, Lynn," she greeted as she took a seat next to her.

"Nothin'," Lynn replied. "Just thinking about the game."

"Yeah, we really blew it, didn't we?" There was no use trying to sugarcoat something so undeniable. "I gotta say though, you're taking it pretty well. You didn't scream swears at the umpire or threaten anybody with a bat or anything. I'm kinda shocked."

Lynn chuckled. "What good would that have done?" she asked rhetorically. She already knew that she could be a good sport about being a winner, but that day had served as a test for how good of a loser she could be as well. Admittedly, she much preferred being the former, though she could at least take pride in how graciously she accepted her defeat. Where once she might've thrown a tantrum, now she just felt like sulking to herself. Mostly though, she was just too mired in self-doubt to get angry. "I gotta question for you though, Margo. Did I suck today?"

"Yeah," Margo answered nonchalantly with a shrug, and Lynn couldn't help but wince at the matter-of-fact way she said it, without any hesitation. "But so what? It happens. The whole team was kinda off their game today, so don't go thinking that this loss was on you."

"I just don't get it. Even when we've lost before, it was never by this much, and I have never, _ever_ played so badly, so what gives? I mean, I had all of my lucky charms, I spun in circles before batting, I avoided all the unlucky streets on the drive to the ballpark…" Another grumble erupted from her gut, and Lynn doubled over slightly in discomfort. "I haven't even taken a dump in two days, for crying out loud!" she practically yelled in exasperation.

"Well, maybe that's your problem right there," Margo suggested.

"What, you think maybe I should've gone three days without going number two? I dunno Margo, I don't think even _I_ could hold it for that long."

"No, dummy," Margo said, "I'm saying that maybe you were just so focused on your good-luck stuff to win the game for you, you didn't even bother with trying your best."

"Huh," Lynn said, rubbing her chin in thought. She had to admit, there was a certain sort-of logic to Margo's argument. "You really think so?"

"I know so." She playfully punched her friend in the arm. "Lynn, you're the best ballplayer I know, by far. If your lucky charms didn't work this time, then that must mean that they never worked in the first place, right?"

Again, perfectly logical. "Right…"

"So yeah, you didn't play your best today. But all those times that you hit a grand slam or jumped almost your entire height in the air to catch a fly ball? That wasn't luck, Lynn. That was all you. Because who are you?"

"…I'm Lynn Loud," she mumbled.

Not good enough for Margo. "Come on, say it like you mean it!"

"I'm Lynn Loud!"

Better, but still not quite at the level of enthusiasm Margo was looking for. She continued to press for a bolder exclamation. "I'm sorry, did you say your last name was Quiet? Shout it out and let all of Royal Woods know it!"

Spurned on, Lynn stood up and shouted, "I'M LYNN LOUD! LYNNER LYNNER CHICKEN DINNER!" She pumped her fists into the air and danced in place, a victory dance without any victory to celebrate, not caring what a fool she must've looked. That is until she saw Francisco standing ten rows down the bleachers, smirking a little to himself at her goofy display. Immediately she stopped her cheering and her newfound pride deflated as she sat back down with her face going red as a baseball's stitching, Margo laughing all the while.

"Hey Lynn, Margo…" he greeted in his slight accent, waving and shyly smiling that grin of his that showed off his chipped tooth. Lynn waved and smiled back, equally bashful, which of course didn't escape Margo's notice.

"What's up Francisco," Margo said. "What's that ya got there?"

That's when Lynn noticed that he was holding something in his hand. It was a small plastic bowl fashioned to look like a baseball helmet, inside of which was a mound of what looked like thousands of tiny rainbow-colored dots piled on top of each other and slowly melting in the summer air. There was a spoon in the dish as well, and from the cold vapor that rose like steam from the bowl it was clear to Lynn that it was some of that novelty ice-cream the stadium sold at a stand near the gift shop. According to what Lisa had told her once, it was made using liquid nitrogen. She had never tried any of it herself, as it was a relatively expensive treat, but still she had always wondered what it tasted like. "Just some ice cream," Francisco replied. "You guys want some?"

"Nah," Margo said as she stood up, "I'm gonna go take a wicked dump. You two enjoy yourselves."

"That's a _little_ bit more than I needed to know, but alright then. See ya Margo; good game today!"

"Yeah, good game. Later, Francisco." With a final wink to her friend, Margo set off towards the direction of one of the stadium restrooms as Francisco climbed up the bleachers and took a seat next to Lynn, where up close she could tell without a doubt that it wasn't a sunburn that shaded his face, but a slight blush. Her own cheeks were similarly scarlet, no longer from embarrassment that he saw her animated behavior, but just to be sitting so near to him.

"I, um, only have the one spoon," he said apologetically. "You don't mind sharing, right?"

With him? Of course she didn't. "Not if you don't," she answered, trying to hide her joy at the prospect as she took the spoon and shoveled a massive scoop of the ice cream into her mouth. All at once a dozen tastes tingled across the surface of her tongue: strawberry, lemon, orange, and others all perfectly distinct while also intermixing into flavors new. "This stuff's amazing," she said, taking another helping for herself before returning the spoon to its rightful owner.

"Yeah it is," Francisco said. He took a spoonful, one much smaller than either one that Lynn had. Clearly, he was intent on savoring the treat for as long as he could. "'Dunno if it was worth seven bucks though."

"Seven bucks?" Lynn asked in mock offense. "You payed seven bucks for ice cream?"

"I wanted the little souvenir helmet," he said with a resigned shrug, as if it explained everything. "You know, to remember this day by. It's not often that somebody gets the better of Lynn Loud."

"Yeah, well, I wouldn't get used to it if I were you," she playfully warned.

He laughed. "Believe me, Lynn, I know you could kick my ass in baseball ninety-nine times out of a hundred."

"And don't ever forget it," she joked, helping herself to another portion of ice-cream. Maybe it was just her imagination, but she could have sworn it tasted even sweeter now that the spoon had touched Francisco's lips. "Seriously though," she continued, "you earned yourself a little celebration. You guys played really great today; I mean that."

"Thanks. I guess it was just our lucky day is all." So genuinely humble. A soaring victory and still he didn't want to take too much credit. It was one of the things she liked most about him.

"I don't think luck had anything to do with it. I mean, I came to the field today armed to the teeth with luck, and we still lost. I had a four-leaf clover, a horseshoe, my lucky jockstrap…"

"Ah yes, the famous lucky jockstrap," he said, rubbing the phantom spot on his face where, at the start of the summer, she threw said jockstrap at his face in a misguided attempt to show him how she felt about him. Fortunately for her, just as he was in victory or defeat, he was a good sport about the whole thing, laughing it off and believing without question when she told him it was nothing more than an accident. "You know, I've got a lucky charm too. Maybe mine's just a little bit stronger than all of yours is all."

"This must be some lucky charm. You wouldn't be willing to part with it by any chance, would ya?" She said it half-joking and half-serious. What Margo had told her only a few moments prior was still buzzing through her head, but still, such a paradigm shift in her worldview would take some getting used to. "I'd be willing to pay."

"No can do," Francisco said. "It means way too much to me." Without further elaboration, he finished off his ice cream and set the souvenir cup to the side, gazing out on the field as the last remnants of sunlight faded. Lynn had the sneaking suspicion that he was holding something back, but decided not to question him further, preferring to enjoy the silence as darkness fell on Royal Woods, darkness that was only broken by the fireflies flaring up on the diamond only to go out again seconds later like lit matches in a windy attic. The lightning bugs became so numerous that it was as though the land was becoming a mirror reflecting the stars in the sky on its surface. "You know, this is kinda cheesy, and you'll probably think I'm lame for saying this, but I don't think there's anything more beautiful in the world than the baseball field at night, after all the crowds and players have gone and everything's quiet. It's so peaceful."

"You're right," Lynn said. "That _is_ kinda cheesy, and I _do_ think you're lame for saying it." He responded with a small chuckle and a good-natured elbow to her side. "But hey, I guess that makes me cheesy and lame too, 'cause I feel the same way."

They continued to watch the insects as they covered the field in a glow that was so much more bewitching than the stadium floodlights, Lynn stealing subtle glances here and there of Francisco's serene face. Maybe it was just her imagination, but she could've sworn that each time she did, he was darting his own eyes away from her, almost like he was doing the same thing that she was and trying to hide it. All in all, though the game may have been a washout, the day had ended no less perfectly by her measure. Sure, there were still the lingering effects of her defeat swirling through her mind, but otherwise it was just as she had hoped for. The sunset, the fireflies, sharing ice cream her crush…The only thing missing was that kiss she had earlier pictured. What a shame it was to her that daydreams and reality so rarely matched up. Where now was that spitfire girl she saw herself as in her fantasy, the one who so fearlessly kissed him? She was, after all, Lynn Loud, as she had shouted at the top of her voice not too long prior. She had made far bolder plays before, not just in baseball, but in other sports as well, so why couldn't she bring herself now to lean in closer to him and at the very least give him a peck on the cheek?

Before she could come up with an answer, she remembered that she had been sitting in the bleachers for almost half an hour. "I, um, better get going," she said, sheepish. "I told my family I just needed a few minutes after the game and they're still waiting for me in our van."

"Oh," was all that he said, and that single word contained untold volumes of disappointment. Without any further idea of what to say, she simply got up slowly and took a few steps before he called back to her, subtle desperation creeping into his tone. "Hey Lynn?"

"Yeah?" she responded, turning around.

He hesitated a moment, flicking his eyes around as if internally deciding whether or not to keep talking. Then his gaze locked with hers and he seemed to realize that there was no turning back. "Do you…wanna know what my lucky charm is?"

"Sure." She had to admit, she was pretty curious, especially given his sudden shift in mood. She decided to at least make an attempt to break the tension. "Why, have you reconsidered my offer to buy it off you?" This time, she was completely joking.

He didn't laugh as he took one of his hands, now shaking slightly from nerves ( _oh how he must've wished that he still had his baseball glove on him so he could fiddle with the strap and give those nervous hands something to do_ ), and dug it into his pocket. "No," he said, pulling out what looked like a piece of paper folded up five times, the creases worn and in the process of breaking. It took her a moment to piece together what significance it could possibly have, but then she saw a splash of red on the white and suddenly it hit her. That same shade of red matched a colored pencil she had used at the start of the summer to draw hearts on the love poem she had slipped him. "Like I said," he continued, "it means too much to me."

Even moreso than it already was, the world went completely quiet. Even the ambiance of the night seemed to slip away as she looked at the note then to his eyes, where the faint glimmer of the lightning bugs was reflected in sparks like campfire embers.

"You, um, know that I was the one who sent you that, right?" she asked, but of course she realized that was a stupid question now. The original plan, now deferred, was that the letter's author would be anonymous until she revealed it to him on her own terms. So much for that idea.

"It was kinda obvious…" Francisco said, smiling warmly. To illustrate his point, he unfolded the paper and read aloud what was written on its surface:

 _"I think its time I cut the crap  
_ _you mean more to me than my favorite jockstrap-"_

"Alright, alright, gimme a break," Lynn cut him off as they both laughed lightly together at the poem's terrible quality. "I'm not the poet in the family. See, originally I was gonna write 'lucky' jockstrap, but I figured that would give it away too easily. 'Guess it wouldn't have mattered, huh?"

"No, but that's okay, I thought it was funny," he assured her as he stuffed the letter back into his pocket. "And while I don't ever want to give this up, maybe I can give you the next best thing. Wait here a sec." Before she knew what was happening, he ran off, leaving the seating area behind entirely. Where he was going she wasn't sure, but she simply stood still in waiting, anxiety building in her chest as she thought of how her family was probably growing impatient at her absence. Still, she didn't budge an inch.

Thankfully, Francisco wasn't gone for long. He rushed back only a few minutes later, nearly tripping as he ran back up the bleachers, and when he was close Lynn could tell that there was something new in his hand, something she recognized by its glossy shine as a page from one of the media guides the stadium sold in its small and poorly-stocked gift shop. "Here, read this," he told her, looking to the floor so that the brim of his hat could hide his crimson face. It was obvious to her that "this" was the "next best thing" he had mentioned before leaving.

She took the page and looked on its surface. Somehow, she doubted that he wanted her to read the roster information or the ads that were already printed on the paper. Instead, she knew that it was the handwriting, scrawled almost madly in black pen, that Francisco was referring to. Her voice cracked slightly as she spoke:

 _"I said there was nothing more beautiful  
_ _Than the baseball field at night  
_ _With the quiet hum of distant traffic  
_ _And the glow of firefly light_

 _But then I saw your face  
_ _And I looked into your eyes  
_ _Then I realized what I said  
_ _About the baseball field was a lie"_

Almost without thinking, she blurted out, "What, did you just come up with that five minutes ago?" She had meant for it to come across as teasing, but her genuine amazement at the poem's quality shone through her tone.

"Well," he admitted, looking up to her and rubbing the back of his head, "I've had the basic gist of it knocking around my head since June, I just didn't know how to put it all together until tonight is all. Your letter to me became my lucky charm, so I was thinking…maybe my letter to you could become yours."

She didn't know what to say at first, but then it came to her. Something that she hoped could match the poetry that he had just given her. "…I'm gonna keep this forever," she said, folding the poem and putting it into her pocket, "but not because it's gonna help me win ball games or anything like that. It'll be to remind myself that I'm already the luckiest girl in the world. Because, well…because I met you…" She cringed a little after saying it, especially after noticing the sudden look that came across Francisco's face like he was fighting back a snorting laughter. On second thought, maybe she had gone a little overboard. Never before did she so wish that she had Lucy's gift for words, and for a second she felt like even more of a loser than when she lost the game earlier that day. A lovesick loser, but a loser nonetheless.

Thankfully, he didn't make fun of her for her saccharine line. He had something much more important to say. "Do you, if you're not too busy or anything," he began, almost hesitantly, "maybe wanna go to Ketchum Park with me tomorrow? There's a small baseball field there and I was hoping you could help me work on my batting practice."

She laughed. "I've seen the way you bat, Francisco. Getting you to improve would take all day."

He took the teasing in stride. Good sport that he was, his response was to shrug and say, "I wouldn't mind spending a whole day at the park with you."

"Okay," she said firmly, "it's a date." She felt that was a good place to leave things off until tomorrow. With nothing more to say, she started her slow walk back to her family.

"One more thing, Lynn…"

"Francisco, I _really_ gotta get going," she said with a small chuckle, making a big show of turning around. "Margo wasn't the only one who had to go to the bathroom."

"Wow, okay, first of all, great job trying to kill the mood. Second of all…" He raised his hand to his mouth and spat into his palm a gob of saliva that was colored red and blue, a residual effect of the ice cream. "I just wanted to tell you, good game today," he said as he presented his hand for her to shake, as had become their post-game tradition.

With a roll of her eyes, she did as he did and spat into her hand, slightly disappointed that this was likely the closest thing to a kiss Francisco and her were likely to share for a while. "Good game," she agreed, taking his hand and shaking it.

It came as a surprise when she felt herself being pulled through the air, closer to him, and when she stopped she felt that her lips were suddenly pressed against his, his that still tasted faintly of the ice cream's rainbow of flavors. Her eyes were at first wide open in surprise at his boldness, then after a second she closed them as she enjoyed the sensation of being kissed, with the lightning-strike feeling that came earlier that day when she hit her quasi home-run not even coming close to matching it.

As they kissed, the only sound she heard was the faint chirp of a cricket's song echoing from deep within the outfield.


End file.
